A Night to Remember
A Night to Remember, a Carrie fic by CrystalNeonSummerSnow Genre: Horror A/N: Wow, I honestly thought I'd be done with this quicker, but hey, I've been procrastinating since Spring Break is past its halfway point. Now, yes, this isn't like an added scene or an alternate ending; this is just my take on the prom scene. I do not own Carrie, but this isn't plagiarism. I just watched the scene from the original Carrie and I thought, "I can make this scarier." So, enjoy. Title Cover ﻿ ---- The school was alive with laughter and music in many ways than one. Lights enlivened the usually dismal gym as goofy teenagers danced to the silly, yet catchy music. The usual songs that made the soundtrack of a Senior Prom were played: The Beatles for those light-hearted, Guns N Roses for those dark-hearted, and the occasional slow songs for those in love. She was neither of them, but she certainly wasn’t complaining at the moment. While the artists of the slow songs were forgotten, the sparks weren’t; at least, referring to the connection between the gorgeous, elegant-looking ladies and their handsome dates. And out of all the dates, Tommy was the handsomest. And she agreed very much. Tommy looked upon his date, completely amazed. His date was never one to socialize or smile much; she was more likely to cry or crawl into fetal position when teased. But this time, that wasn’t her. Instead of wearing a ratty, old-fashioned dress that he never really insulted, she was clothed in her inner beauty. That beauty was bathed in an ivory white, outshining even the infamous Moon. Her smile was also, what he thought, what made others stare at her more. Her eyes that were usually covered by her stringy, yet silken blonde hair were aglow with newfound confidence. Not a lot of confidence, but enough to even let her freckles dot her seemingly pale face with her permission. Now, this wasn’t Sue Snell that he was falling in love with. Sue was a more social and popular girl. No, the woman he was falling for was Carrie White. Even though lots of people were surprised that he took Carrie to the prom, the one most surprised was Carrie herself, though that wasn’t a surprise. Throughout her life, Carrie’s life has been a life made out of kick me signs and being tripped enough to let the bruises mark her hollowed cheeks. If tearlines were visible, though, that was the only thing that they didn’t tease her about; those vicious students called her misery delicious. While Maine was never really considered the place where bullying became part of its reputation, if they did an example of bullying, Carrie’s story would be the perfect example. Even when Carrie was kindly mingling with others, she couldn’t help but cringe when they weren’t looking about those years of being offered gluestick lip gloss and being slapped at least once when her mother didn’t. Yes, the girls’ taunts weren’t the only complement to the cries that Carrie let out as music in the heartless nights. It was a mother, hair auburn and wavy with Satan’s power yet draped in virtuous lace to earn the Lord’s love, who could pretty much kill her. The slits that always stared at Carrie haunted her to no end throughout the night. Those eyes, teeming with darkening oceans of blue evil passing off as motherly love, followed her throughout her life. Sometimes, when her mother locked her in the “praying closet” for nothing, Carrie would pray, but then spend most of her time caressing the beautifully wrathful bruising her mother made when she was accused of sin; every time, a tear would land on each of them. Whether the bruises were green and gashed, purple and pulsing, or even just a black mark that was always another mark by her name, that proved to Carrie once again who was the boss. But tonight, she wasn’t going to care about a thing because this was her night in the spotlight. However, while the shining diamonds on the crown were calling her name, so was the hidden bucket of blood that towered unnoticed above Carrie. The owner of the ugly thing was Chris Hargensen, an uglier thing than the bucket or the blood. Her ugliness was her pride. She wasn’t like most prissy popular girls, in all honesty. She was actually more rebellious than most prom queen wannabes, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t brush her hair before being taken by her sleazy boyfriend Billy Nolan. For some reason, Chris hated Carrie; she didn’t know why, and neither did the rest of the girls involved in the “shower incident”. For some reason, they just thought that since she was different, different was a bad thing. Yet now, Chris and Billy thought they had a reason to hate Carrie and one reason only: they were banned from the prom. Well, Chris was banned, but Billy wasn’t planning on going to the prom alone; just thinking about the remarks he’d get for being single at the prom made him frown more at the helpless girl. Even though she had to wait until the crown was placed upon Carrie’s head, Chris wanted to just throw the bucket at her, covering her in the guilt that she should’ve felt when Ms. Desjardin slapped her and banned her from the prom. The teachers, while rarely alike, had this one thing in common: they all shared the same hatred for Chris, especially Ms. Desjardin. Chris bit her lip remembering that, remembering that she wanted her to choke on her gum. But casually, she shook off those hapless moments and focused on her main goal: humiliating Carrie. And with that, she did. The blood landed upon her in an enormous wave, some even landing on Tommy. Even when his bouncy blond hair was beaded with blood, he was still gorgeous. But Carrie wasn’t. The excess surrounded her in a pitiful pool of what life was all about: nothing. She was completely drenched. The white and silver that graced her bruised and abused flesh drowned in her sorrow, the corsage went from a beautiful white to a sickening red tint, and the only thing that could slowly clean the dreaded red substance off her face was her tears as the laughter erupted. Everyone went hysterical with laughter. The girls involved in the “shower incident”—which meant all the girls there—did; the principal did; Ms. Desjardin even couldn’t help but squeak out a chuckle or two. The lights that shone upon the unfortunate teen mocked her as she cried; to Carrie, the light shone upon her to show her as the center of attention, making her humiliation even worse. And just thinking about that heart-aching fact made her cry harder. Every teardrop fell between her knuckles to clean out the blood. Why Tommy wasn’t able to comfort her wasn’t because he was laughing; it was because Chris unintentionally dropped the bucket on his head, thus knocking him out. With the laughter and pain closing in on her, Carrie threw her head back and screamed. Her bloodied hands shook as they tried to cover her face, but it only resulted in more blood covering her face that was contorted into a blank and monotonous stare. She stared up at the roof, knowing the Lord was watching from above, unpleased and angered, for sure. Somehow, no more logical thought could come back to her. No feeling, either; the only thing she could feel was pain. Even if a slap or a kick didn’t come her way, she could feel the pain manifested as the blood that drenched her from her once silken and soft hair to her clenched and curled toes; even few bitter drops that mingled with her tears stained her teeth, thus ruining her smile. Her head slowly lowered, stopping the laughter when everyone met her frightening green gaze. The only thing that existed in her eyes was the livid fires of her deepest wrath. She didn’t care if wrath was a deadly sin and she had to spend another night in her closet praying; all she cared about was giving them something she could laugh about. Everyone stilled, a sudden rush of fear freezing them. Carrie never gave people a look like that; come to think of it, she didn’t give anyone anything except her pain as reminders of who they were. And when her gaze landed on them and Chris and Billy escaping with ease, they all knew who—no, better yet what they were: monsters. Yes, that was the perfect description. They were monsters; icy cold, heartless, unfeeling monsters, they were. Throughout the years, they knew there was no evidence to prove that fact wrong. Carrie never did or said anything to them to give them a right to insult her. However, their best excuse was the same old cliché: she was different. Well, with a religious-nut mother and an empty life, it wasn’t surprising that Carrie was friendless. But the students never cared, as usual. The only one that did care was Tommy, but he couldn’t help her; not with a fractured skull. Carrie looked upon them, secretly surprised that they stopped laughing. Whether it was taking a good look at what they’ve done to snap Carrie or taking a good look at what Carrie was going to do next, nevertheless, they were surely frightened. The look she had was a look normally seen in horror films, and with a look like that, that made Carrie look like the killer, and they would soon be the victims. Even if they refused to admit it in their waning hours of heartbeat, the blood that stained Carrie’s prom dress wasn’t just going to be the pig’s blood. Soon, it would be all the pigs’ blood. Perhaps that’s why when the entrance door slammed shut, everyone jumped. Revenge was what filled the tense air, and the stench was alive enough to make the prom goers cough and choke. The rampage was beginning, and for some reason, they didn’t run the minute those doors slammed shut. Some of them thought that resistance against Carrie’s—quoted by her mother—“ungodly” powers were inevitable, which was why very few didn’t move. Of course, an Ewen High School student was never known to give up without a good fight; perhaps that was another reason why people picked on Carrie: she never fought back until now. One of the boys—Kenny Garson was his given name—didn’t even jump once the entrance was shut. That was surprising, considering that he had the intelligence and personality of a third grader. He just looked back at Carrie, laughed at the blood that was a result of the prank he helped out with, and casually made his way to the exit door. It was odd the way he’d swish his arms back and forth separately, but when Carrie noticed that, that was her opportunity. When his left arm stuck out into the icy cold night before the rest of him could, the doors shut. He let out a cry in pain as the doors practically crushed his arm once shut. A gasp in unison came, but nothing from Carrie. The only thing that could leave her was common sense. Remembering him laughing and snorting like a pig at her, his arm twisted and turned, draining some blood to let him see if it was funny to her. Agonized cries for help came from him, and if she was grounded in reality when this happened, she would’ve laughed. Even though no one ever heard her laugh, it would probably be compared obnoxiously to the cackle of a witch. But with Kenny’s bone writhing into dust by every flexing move that Carrie angrily provided, there was nothing to laugh about. All they really had to do was help him. However, a wave of energy pinned the students to the floor. No matter how hard they tried, Carrie would only let them go if she wanted to kill them next. Without warning, the room went into a red tint, emphasizing both her pain and her power. The minute the light was casted upon her was terrifying in every right. Her eyes widened, that gaze averted from the quivering students to the pool of blood that vanished. Everything vanished from Carrie’s mind; all except the lowlifes she’s known since first grade, about to be killed. Even though it was never real, she felt as if she was a female Satan. She felt her hair billow and sway in ominous slow-motion; she felt the holy fires of Hell sweep over her blood, casting her skin into an ever redder flush than the light or blood could provide. The black voids in her eyes widened as her power increased, casting away the innocent, yet pained green glow in her eyes. Her lips never parted, not even to breathe. The terror that she was beginning to inflict upon everyone gave her enough life, she didn’t need to breathe. She didn’t even need to do anything except let Karma laugh its last before she could ever attempt to. Eventually, the forceful weight she put upon the squirming and screaming students and teachers wore off as she begun to notice Kenny fading. His hand tried to grasp the handle of the door, but the only thing that was in his hand was emptiness. Blood fell in thin streams down the boring beige paint of the doors, and without looking, even he knew that. Of course, some tried to help him. One of them, Tina Blake, ran to help him first. Carrie set her sight on her, one of the girls who mocked her in the locker room. Then, a vision came into her head: Tina, lying lifeless on the floor as the basketball board hid her body from the rest of the world. Happily, she took that into consideration. While Tina was busy screaming like the smart-mouthed spaz she was, something easily knocked her down. The basketball board swished back and forth, making the sequins on her silver dress shiver as she did. Carrie didn’t hold her down as she ran away; she’d catch her. Like a crack of lightning, the rusted red bolts came off, the board spinning in mid-air like a dog’s Frisbee. Tina ran as fast as she could, trying to avoid her deserved death along with the others, but alas, due to the fact that she’s a complete klutz on heels, she tripped over a nearby table. Her scream echoed as the board pierced her nearly-exposed back, thus silencing it. Kenny looked back and screamed, seeing his best friend drowning in her own bloody pride and self-assurance, but for his—and her—benefit, Carrie silenced him by giving his arm one last twist. The body part fell to the pavement in a thud loud enough to hear it in a ten-mile radius. The last thing he could to was fall to the ground as blood spewed out in a sickening sound, allowing the claws of his sin to drag him down, down into his rightful place. Everyone was surely in a panic. The place bustled with screaming students. While the teachers did the best they could to calm them, they honestly wanted to scream and run along with those unworthy churls of Satan. Then, another sinister, vengeful act came from the humiliated girl. With an eerie squeaking sound, the hose hovered about, spraying the students with furious streams of water. To Carrie, that was the easiest way to cleanse sin rather than locking them in a closet all night. The easiest way to cleanse sin was simple: pain. It was the way her mother did; like mother, like daughter. With a hose like the emergency hose, it would feel like it would cut through skin, cleaning out unholy blood and sinful flesh. So far, the hose surprisingly didn’t kill anyone, but Carrie kept her eye on one of the girls she wanted dead next: Norma Watson. In all honesty, anyone that just met her—boy or girl—would want to kill a loudmouthed tomboy like her. However, it was hard to carry out her vengeance on Norma, for her feet belonged to only a cheetah; yet, Carrie channeled back the fathomless memories of Norma always hitting her with her ugly hat that a 5 year-old probably gave her to make this easier. She was surprised Norma was allowed to wear that to prom when sophistication was better than lowliness. Perhaps that was why Carrie’s control on the water was able to even tear the fabric of the hat apart as the water cut through her ragged dress. Soon, her flesh was torn and she stopped running. Her face froze in that blank expression, jaw hanging fairly ajar with maybe just one drop of blood hanging aimlessly. At least her face didn’t freeze in her signature smirk. Some had had enough. Some had actually got the nerve to come onto the stage and snap her out of it. However, that was utterly futile, only resulting in them being pinned to the wall for Carrie to take her pick. Surprisingly, she turned to Ms. Desjardin, the one who encouraged Carrie to go to the prom. There were multiple times in Carrie’s mind that she asked why she even listened to her, but this flat excuse was the best answer: she said that Senior Prom is a night to remember. Well, the only thing Carrie would remember of this is that she can trust no one. And judging by the frightened expression on Ms. Desjardin’s face, she knew that to. She could already smell her blood before the rafter creaked; Carrie could too. Ms. Desjardin was never really Carrie’s favorite teacher, but she was the only teacher that liked her more than the others. At least she didn’t mock her like the others did. But before she became nothing more than a lifeless woman with her ringlet curls covering her unclosed eyes stuck in that gaze, Carrie’s thoughts declared that it was Ms. Desjardin’s fault. If she didn’t listen to her, then haply, the blood that dared to become the aftermath of her sin would’ve never been real. Ms. Desjardin didn’t say much, for shock stole her voice; the only thing that left was a scream in pain as the rafter had completely crushed her pelvis in half, maybe. Her head fell onto the chipped wood in a surprisingly loud thump. While she never considered herself that, Ms. Desjardin did tend to be a bit conceited, saying she’s smarter than all the other teachers, therefore they thought she knew what she was doing. With all that bragging about how big of a brain she has, that explained why the thump echoed throughout the gymnasium. No one noticed, however, for the unbelievable sound drowned in the screams that were part of the soundtrack to the downfall of all the little devils that were involved with, if not amused by, the nasty prank. The other teachers that were pinned quickly suffered the same fate as Ms. Desjardin’s. The smug female teachers’ hair spilled over their eyes as their plastic pearl necklaces broke like glass once touching the wooden floor. The deluded male teachers’ glasses fell and broke as if on cue. After that, Carrie had proved they had another thing in common: they were killed by the same person. Horror was manifested in two things: the musical screams that flooded the gym and the girl who was still as stone. She didn’t blink once; the Karma was far too wonderful to miss. If movement was possible for her, a grin would’ve contorted from such hollowed cheeks. She knew that, and so did the entire panicking 12th grade scum she’s dealt with for too long. Even if she caused all of this without lifting a finger, they would’ve heard her laughter. Due to many terrible insults from her peers, they’d probably mistake it for the yowling of a cat or something of the like. No matter what they would—or reluctantly should—call it, the unheard laughter was presented to them in their heads only. And if they were alive, but scarred, to this day, they’d unanimously agree on this fact: it sounded like the Devil at work. Just thinking about that suddenly made a horrific transformation occur in Carrie, as if she heard their exact thoughts. For once during the whole horror show, she blinked. The pale green that always drowned in her tears was gone, leaving the hellish ember fires that hid behind them to substitute. Her crunchy locks bounced around like they thought they would. Chips of the dried blood from her hair fell like it was Satan’s snow surrounding her feet. Her fingernails slowly, but disgustingly, grew and curled. Even though a lot of the prissy girls had their nails long and sharp enough to pick locks, that honestly looked pretty painful to them. While Carrie’s nails grew, blood sloppily washed over the pale pink and white of them. While some didn’t know if it was the pig’s blood or her own blood from the excruciating pain of her claws growing, they never lived long enough to find out. So, they didn’t bother. They only ran around like little fools, fools trying to find their exit to end this. The roses that crashed to the floor vanished, as if never held and never picked; the tiara was placed back upon her head, the diamonds cracked and some even missing once the blood washed over her skin like her mother said it eventually would, saying that it was her sin that finally found. No, her sin was her virtue, and her virtue was revenge, a thing that was the only thing Carrie ever loved. And when another helpless victim was thrown against the metal wall, her virtue was going to be at its grisly work again. Cindi, being the helpless fawn’s given name, was never noticed. Luckily, she was never teased, either. Cindi was an outsider, but not like Carrie; she was the kind of person to find freedom in both writing and heavy metal. While the popular girls found that a bit gruesome and disgusting, they liked Cindi for one thing and one thing only: she could be able to torture Carrie well. Whether it was through violent poetry or actual violent measures to quench everyone’s thirst for her misery, the cliques actually found Cindi quite useful. Carrie thought she was, too, as a useful target, that is. Cindi began kicking, thrashing, trying to escape the girl’s wrath, but it was no use. It wasn’t long until a scream louder than death itself tore from the Gothic’s mouth. A lot of people that turned to her were confused, seeing that she wasn’t bleeding, but when they turned back to Carrie, they knew that bloodshed wasn’t required to hurt someone. When they all turned back to the screaming girl, they began panicking again when they realized that the thorns from her heart tattoo had spread all over her body, trapping the so-called beauty that was held in her creamy skin. The heart started beating when it looked like her real heart didn’t. Despite that, Cindi’s chest heaved to no end due to lack of breath. The painful irony that surrounded her shut her airway down, leaving her face red and her legs continuing to thrash and kick. The thorns continued spread all over. The most dangerous place they spread was towards her neck, as if threatening to strangle her. It was a good guess considering she had lost all breath, anyways. Her black nails clawed at her face and neck desperately, trying to dig out the roots; but it was all pointless in the end, when her bony hands fell to the side knowing that this was it. A tear traced down her deformed cheeks, an apology squeaked out before the animalistic-sounding cries came along, too. She continued crying as the thorns slowly snaked around her neck and collar bone, taking away the ability to breathe without intention. However, her gruesome demise came when the thorns suddenly jutted out of her shivering flesh. Screams and cries for help were louder than anything else heard in the gym, but they were never heard as the rest ran around to find a living teacher to help. Those screams got louder and painfully shrill as the thorny roots broke free from her skin, slowly wrapping around her. She felt blood roll down her shoulders and legs; she felt her lacey black dress tears apart seem by measly seem as the bloodied vines of her own evil rung around her, squeezing any possible life out of her like a cobra would to its prey. And comparing a cobra to Carrie that night was very hard considering they had no differences. The penetrating stare in Carrie’s eyes belonged to a cobra; the scaly, bloodied skin belonged to a cobra; the only thing she was missing was curled, yellowed fangs that dripped with venom whenever she’s hiss. However, there was also the fact, the damning fact that made a cobra and Carrie very much alike: they were cold-blooded killers. With all those years of being the prey, she was finally the predator that was killing all the other predators that defied her to no end. Cindi’s screams were muffled as the vines eventually reached her face, covering her mouth. When she tried to bite the vines, that only resulted in being squeezed more. The vines covered more and more tense skin until they reached back to the destination point: her neck. Encircling it slowly for dramatic effects, drops of mascara-tinted tears continues to fall in fat drops as she breathed her last. As the skin on her neck and the flesh of her throat were closed in, the screams of Cindi were finally silenced as her head inclined and she dangled aimlessly, being the first victim of the prom to be hung. Most of the vines disappeared, except the one that cut through her neck’s flesh. The cold terror increased far more than it should have as blood began to seep through the vine and even stream down her torn dress. The surviving teachers ran up to the stage, trying to calm the students down, but Carrie used the hose to try and spray them off the stage. Angered, Principal Kramer ran up onto the stage, tripping over Tommy’s seemingly lifeless body. While trying to calm everyone down, he turned to Carrie. Before even he knew it, his ugly hands grabbed her shoulders, shaking her violently to snap her out of it. Her eyes rolled over to him in an angry glare, causing him to fly off the stage. With killing the principal, it didn’t take much effort; all it took was a forgotten pocket knife and more soulless memories of being called “Cassie”. The pocketknife belonged to someone, certainly not to Principal Kramer, but with the inscription dulled and worn away, it was left unknown for the best. The reason why is because the last thing the owner would need is to be scapegoat for this whole fiasco; that is, if he or she lived. The blade hovered unnoticed, stealth being the best weapon Carrie ever had. The exact places where the man was stabbed, she could never remember, but with examining the bloody wounds carefully, the most obvious place was his chest. She was surprised that blood pooled on that wound the most since no heart laid inside there. The only thing that she thought laid there was acid for blood and an ice block for a heart. But for some reason, the Devil has ways of lying to make those facts false. But Carrie didn’t focus on that; she focused on the weed-smoking piece of lard she’s had from a principal for 4 years, and in all honesty, she was surprised he didn’t bleed out all the fat he had. People continued to run and scream, not caring that there were times that they ran over the lifeless bodies. They began to run for the windows, seeing that that was the only exit Carrie didn’t lock. She did that on purpose since the windows were up in a height that people would die from when jumping off. That suited her just fine; she’d love to hear the sound of broken bones. And when Lou and Henry, brothers of both Tina and Kenny, tried to escape, that was another easy opportunity for her. Using the hose, she turned it to them, and without much description, she heard a thundering crack, the sound that would normally make her stomach twist and turn. The hose continued to wash away the blood that stained their queerly white tuxedoes, washing away their lingering pride, as well. Normally, they were never mentioned nor bullied, but when they helped Billy pull the biggest prank in Chamberlain history, they felt 100 ft. tall, as if placed upon an ornate throne together. Emotionlessly, the hose fell with a loud clink against the rusted metal. Everyone stilled again, looking angrily upon the girl as if she stopped the madness at last. With the anger and horror clashing along with the flurry of sweat and tears that were formed in the panic, someone did the unthinkable. Kicking the hose out of his way, Don Barrett, who was teased for being part of the decorating committee, pulled out a pistol. Biting deep into his toothpick, a click was heard. No one held the bad boy back; instead of protest, anticipation came to the scene. Don Barrett helped Billy with this whole thing too, and Carrie knew too. She could see the dried blood on his ugly fingers. Being a bad boy, Don had no reluctance in him; his pistol was his best friend, more so than Billy. Why? Because he enjoyed hurting people, the smell of blood being his most twisted fetish. The only reason he was part of the decorating committee was because of his mother’s orders. While he compared to “listening to The Beatles live”, he found some use for it now that he had his pistol out, the first bullet ready to be released. Yet, with every choice comes a backlash, but the backlash for trying to shoot Carrie was more fatal than just a plain consequence. The first bullet fired, a flinch from some being the response. But Carrie didn’t flinch. Still as stone, the bullet bounced off her ruined dress, cutting through the tense, thick air. It raced fast, quick, like a shooting star, clinging onto the only wish that appeared in their heads: the wish to live. Carrie had a wish too, but it was far more sinister wish: the wish to kill. One of the wishes was to be granted, and even behind the prom goers flickering hope, they knew what wish would be granted. Glass shattered, gunfire erupted, the bullets were wasted on killing the immortal. They cannot squeeze blood from stone, and Carrie was the stone. However, Don unconsciously refused. Apparently, all common sense had been lost; both from Carrie and the victims. With a lazy look in his eyes, the last two bullets fired louder than all the others. Why was because this was his last stand against the monster that bared such a delicate name. However, instead of bouncing off her dress, they didn’t. They didn’t do anything; they froze. It was as if time itself stood still except for her. Boring her eyes at the shiny pair of silver calling her name mockingly, they slowly turned around, plunging deep into Don’s shoulder blades. He choked, falling in ultimate numbness as warm blood pooled washed over his tongue while around his head. It wasn’t long until he was coughing up mouthfuls of the dreaded substance. His cry was both stomach-writhing and mind-numbing, a pain brewing deep in everyone’s stomachs. The gun fell with a clatter, the metal drenched in blood and left to be only for the smoldering ashes of Hell. His jaw remained slack, his venomous hazel eyes staring up at the shadowy roof until forced to be closed. Carrie could practically see Satan rip through his flesh to take his empty soul. While it was never real, Carrie could see those black claws raking through the rude flesh of such an evil sociopath. She could smell his blood more than she should have; if she was in reality, she’d gag and cough to no end due to such odor. They all eyed the gun warily as if she was planning to take it and shoot everyone to death, but nothing moved until she glared at the next angered student who also had the urge to kill her: Steve Deighan. While lacking both sensitivity and intellect, Steve knew who his friends were and he never took that lightly. With being trapped in reality’s cage with the bars dripping with alcohol and blood from where his father beat him when he didn’t to his wife, friendship was all he really had. However, with most being in military families and eventually moving from shore to shore, Don was really the only friend Steve could remember having. At least, that was how he saw it. When he tried to remember old friends, Don was all that he could picture. Now, staring through his disastrous ebony curls with her eyes appearing like shattered glass, he couldn’t see his friend. At least, he couldn’t see his friend alive, that is. That was the only time he refused to look at his friend; he refused to take in the sight of Don’s blood pooling around his head, the wounds gushing to no end. Instead, he took in the sight of the damned girl that had finally driven him to insanity. What was even painful was that he never even teased Carrie; he wasn’t even a part of the prank, but being as lickerish as always, he couldn’t help but laugh at her. Despite that, that wasn’t a valid enough reason to kill his best friend. He and Carrie were both outsiders plagued with terrible lives, so he felt like his own stereotype hates him. Perhaps that was why he grabbed the gun and attempted to throw it at her. It barely missed her, but the gun didn’t just fall to the ground after bouncing against the wall. Instead, it came back like a boomerang, hitting Steve straight in the head. It normally shouldn’t have hurt since no brain lay in his numb skull. As a bruise began to form, Steve accidentally tripped over a table, causing some punch to spill over his face, only making him angrier. Staggering when getting himself up, he let out a loud outcry a soldier would before lunging forth at his enemy. And thinking about that, he did. He ran towards Carrie, not slowing down to think it over. However, even though he didn’t want to admit it, he knew she had a good weapon against him: her telekinesis. With another wave of energy, he was pinned to the entrance next to Cindi’s lifeless body. It freaked him out because everyone knew he had a crush on her. When Carrie thought about that, an idea lit up. Without any slow force, the wires from a nearby fuse box soon wrapped his shivering body like a Christmas present. He put up a good fight, thrashing and grunting for a forceful emphasis. Yet, his movement stilled when the punch bowl flipped over to him, sending a huge course of electricity pulse through his body. The entire gym was set ablaze, being the climax of the terrible evening. Things were going to end soon, they knew. Fate was what was happening, not senseless carnage. As the room was engulfed in the fiery pit of their future resting place, Carrie had to try extra hard that none would escape. She didn’t care about their benefit—not even a possibly dying Tommy’s—just hers. Tables spun in the air and records were suddenly shot at the water pipes. That action rather confused those that actually noticed; they didn’t know if this was another vengeful act or if she was actually ending this. However, they never asked, for the blazing heat of Carrie’s untamable anger spoke otherwise. The blood on her never cleaned off; she kept in on as a reminder of what this terrible prank had led to. Her eyes creepily turned to the scoreboard that was dangling due to one of the forgotten records slicing through the wires. That was when a grin threatened to contort on her face; however, still in shock, she only let her snakelike eyes widen as her catlike claws flaunted around when she flexed her fingers, ridding them of their numbness. As the water flooded and the fires flared, the scoreboard fell in a deafening crash. There was no more screaming, no more running; the electricity coursed through the water, thus explaining the water pipe act. When they all fell, Carrie then stepped off the stage, being her damage pedestal for this night only. Without any other power in her to destroy such a terrible school, all she did was silently make her way out of the gym before it collapsed into black ashes. Even though Carrie didn’t look back, she could see all that their fates had provided. The bodies were either dangling in her mocking way of showing Karma’s acclaimed act of irony or slung out like a bag of farm potatoes, heads rolled to the side helplessly like rubber. Glass from either pairs of glasses or jewelry shattered, tuxes and dresses all soaked in their gory fates attainted perfectly by Satan. She knew that she’d someday regret that, but it would easily be fended out by remembering the symphony of laughter and cruelty composed by her heartless peers. She only looked back to see the school collapse and her shadow that had come to life laughed endlessly at their demises. That wasn’t the only moment of destruction from Carrie White. While she didn’t notice as she was still hung up on the “Black Prom”—being its given name to this day—the neighborhoods she passed by when heading home collapsed into ruin, as well. The white picket fences that she saw in picture books rattled and hovered, only to rocket through nearby windows of nameless owners’ houses; power lines fell onto roofs, electrocuting those either awake or in bed, as well; to make matters worse, the ground ruptured and cracked as she stridden over the pavement that glowed as the clouds swirled and twisted above her, as if it was the blankets that were used to tuck the Moon to bed. Fire flamed around her, making the walk home even more torturous, for this was the fire of her living hell she could never escape. Sweat from the sticky humidity cascaded down her bony shoulders, washing at least some blood off her. Cars were turned over and flowers wilted rapidly, covering the usually lush, green grass with a growing black stain of death. Screams flooded the air, and to Carrie, her mother probably heard them all, comparing it to the sound of Satan’s slaves being chastised by her sin. Trees fell as if dominoes: in unison and forming the beautifully hated pattern of destruction. While no car dared to drive in front of her—mostly because the drivers were lying as rotting corpses in the making—but a flash of light was seen from the corner of her eye. With a set of fluffy-looking blonde hair and a joint flipping up and down annoyingly, she knew it was them: Chris and Billy, the reason this whole massacre had dared been begun. With hearing both the snapping of gum and the vengeful, but drunken giggling, Carrie didn’t even turn around as the car “accidentally” swerved into a trees way and had to turn around, but not without being flipped over. She could hear their frightened screams as it was their last. Carrie was able to get a glimpse of their faces being pierced by shards of the windshield’s glass before the thing exploded arbitrarily. While Carrie continued down with no power left in her—except for making it rain out of sheer sorrow—someone did notice the entire wave of destruction including the prom – it was the girl who had possibly been the reason for all of this. Her name was Sue Snell. As previously discussed, she was the reason Tommy took Carrie to the prom. Out of all popular girls, Sue was oddly the nicest out of all of them. Sure, she was involved in the whole locker room ordeal, but at least she had the ability to feel guilty for what she was. In ways, she was a teenage godmother and Carrie was her Cinderella. However, not all of life was a fairy tale, Sue knew, for it was never said—not even in the uncensored version—that Cinderella became the victim of an incoherent prank and killed half the townspeople. Sue tried to stop this, but sadly, she was cursed with the punishment of tormenting an innocent student so that was why Ms. Desjardin didn’t believe her. As she hid in the bushes, Sue stared down at her feet in shame. For some reason, it wasn’t just survivor’s guilt that caused her pale skin to flush; it was pain. When she was a little girl, she was bullied continuously until her mother moved to Chamberlain when she was in 8th grade, and when she stepped in, everything changed for her. Chris became one of her best friends and even though she didn’t want to admit it, she had become the anti-hero. It was her fault that this was happening, not Carrie’s. Perhaps that was why she dared not to confront the enraged girl. Instead, she fell to her knees behind a nearby bush that wasn’t flaming, weeping pathetically. While she considered that weak, there was no doubt that this would haunt her. As the dirt scraped her knees and her mini-skirt wrinkled from the downpour of rain, she felt her warm tears flood down her face as she thought about all that was killed. Tommy was killed; Chris was killed; all her life friends were killed, and it was all her fault. Her hand smoothed over the coarse lace of her night tank, a tear landing on her knuckles. It was a shame that Carrie didn’t notice the weeping girl, for she was too busy reminiscing about the carnage she had actually caused. The smell of lukewarm blood flooded her nose; the sound of those pathetic screams was her permanent soundtrack, finally replacing her own screams. Rain attempted to at least wash the blood off her face and not the others’ blood. Her eyes went back to the innocent green it originally was; the claws disappeared; her hair fell back into their lifeless state on her shoulders. The only thing that was left on her was the foul scabbing blood that not even the steady rain could wash off. The door opened by itself, another ominous chill being sent down her spine. She looked around at the place around her. Candles scented the thick air in the house; normally, the scent would’ve been the scent of roadhouse whiskey and burnt food that was something not even the Devil would eat. But this time, the scent was an awakening lavender, brought to even more life with a sweet-smelling cinnamon. It was almost as if she was walking into a perfume shop. At least one crucifix was nailed to each opposing wall. Even though rage and horror stole Carrie’s voice, keeping her from talking, a faint version of her voice warned her that when the house looks like this, it was never good. Still, Carrie paid no heed to her conscience’s warning as she made her way up the stairs that twisted itself into the bathroom and bedroom. Carrie turned to the bathroom, surprised that the door was already open, as if her mother did that for her. She shook that thought away as the water began to fill the tub on its own. What Carrie didn’t know was that her villainous mother was behind the door, wearing her traditional white lace to blend in with the white paint. She gnawed at the pink flesh of her lip as she heard those footsteps. To Margaret, those were Satan’s footsteps and the manifesto of him was her “possessed” daughter. She knew her sin had found Carrie; she knew. The Devil had come home at last. Remembering when her husband Ralph promised never again, that was when the truth came about. Sin never dies. Sin never dies, but she wanted Carrie too. A reluctant and harshly bitter tear ran down her cheek as she thought about how she should’ve given her daughter to God when she was born. Her daughter had become a walking sin, the blood that soaked her being proof of that. Perhaps that was why she clutched the plastic hilt of the knife shakily. Never did Margaret White imagine being afraid of a daughter who should be the one fearing her. Carrie was normally helpless, weak, she was the mouse and Margaret was the cat. She was the dominant one, but with a daughter washing off the blood quite slowly—probably to take notice of her proud and vain victory—that fact was challenged. While the grotesque transformation Carrie had at the prom had gone away, Margret still saw her in that image. It was Satan’s power controlling her, no doubt about it. She kept her breath silent, not wanting her daughter to notice. The only sound Carrie could hear was the running water and her unzipping the dress that was stained in her woe. What she was going to do was for all their benefits – Carrie’s benefit, Margaret’s benefit, and most importantly, God’s benefit. While coherent thought left Margaret, it came back to Carrie, possibly reprimanding her at what she had done. Finally, back in reality and just realizing what she had done, she broke down. She hugged her naked legs as the tears came, her knees covering her face in regret and remorse at what genocide she had caused. Even though there were a lot of people involved in the prank that suffered, so did a lot of innocent people. While the blood was cleaned off by the water, nothing could fend off the painful event that occurred on what was supposed to be the time of her life. The milky white complexion that was her skin’s complexion still felt bathed in the icy, yet hellish blood that was her sin. She never understood this sudden rage; she lived sinlessly. She never did, she never cursed, and she never killed. Sadly, she wasn’t just cursed with the curse of blood as her mother said so; no, she was cursed with the curse of power. And she should’ve known that such great power comes such great responsibility. Her hair fell over her shoulders limply, back in their flat and stringy state. All possible beauty she had was lost in the fire that was her sudden evil. It was like everything she was—or tried to be—was sucked into the black hole of Hell. Her cries never dwindled; not even her hands that finally drew themselves to her face could help with that. The anguish she had probably ripped away all dignity she had left. For her sake, she should’ve just ran away. If only she had ran away from her horrible life and started over; if only God allowed second chances, just to fix things. Once something is done, you cannot change it back. The pendulum of choice could do that, and choice is something her viewpoint of society lacked. If they noticed choice, then all the misery and suffering that was hers would’ve never happened. Then that way, prom would’ve been like the royal ball Cinderella enjoyed. Then that way, maybe she and Tommy would’ve been able to frolic and embrace each other romantically in spring-fresh fields. Then that way, she would feel like she was in Heaven already with the golden visage of her savior looking upon her in the manifesto of sunshine. In a moment of chilling irony, to Carrie White, this definitely was a night to remember. Category:Fanfictions